so....much....dreck....oozing out....of....computer....need....ghost of....Kurt Vonnegut....to possess....fingers....
17: I'm thankful for my dog. Sadie's a seven-year old golden retriever who looks and acts like a puppy on acid. Small for her breed, and such a maniac whenever somebody comes to visit, people often ask how many months old she is, and whether anyone has scanned her brain in all of that time to determine if she, in fact, has one.
Thirty-two piano students and their parents come to this house every single week, so it's not like company is a rare occurrence around here. Yet whenever someone new shows up, she races around in a complicated figure eight from living room to family room, does several barrel rolls on the floor as part of a celebratory shedding ritual, and finally settles as far under the piano bench as I'll allow her.
She does this thirty-two times a week, minimum.
She is also, however, the sweetest, most cheerful animal currently residing in my home, and is the one least likely to give me static about doing her chores. Granted, her only chore so far is "run in manic circles when people come to the house" but she does it consistently and without complaint.
She takes personal objects hostage whenever she's feeling playful or neglected, but she'll always drop the dirty underwear or the shredded slipper when you offer her a treat. In this regard she is not unlike the rest of my family, and her treats are a lot cheaper. My kids have been known to keep an old sock in their mouths for days, holding out for cheesecake or gourmet pizza. Seriously, that is so annoying.
I have to admit, though, as cute and loving as she is, Sadie does have one characteristic I have a hard time overlooking:
The dog just can't seem to hold her licker.